Thoughts of a Silent Man
by Mr. Bathory
Summary: (LGBT!Snape, rated M for safety; includes sensitive topics.) Severus Snape attempts to write an autobiography.
1. Chapter 1

_This was never going to be easy._

I have a lot of regrets, as far as regrets go. Some are mistakes, others, not so much. For example, I regret pushing away the one person who mattered to me the most, and making the mistake of trying to control her feelings. I won't deny what I did; it won't make me any happier, so I might as well admit to it, despite my pride. I called Lily Evans a mudblood.

 _Yes,_ I was angry. _Yes,_ I was afraid. _Yes,_ she called me a 'snake'. But what people fail to understand about snakes is that they never attack; they only act out in their own defense. I both overestimated and underestimated her intelligence - alas, she was smart enough to figure out that I was trying to keep her from James, but not smart enough to see _why._

Perhaps I was selfish to think that I could stop him from tainting her with his views and ideals. I didn't want her becoming like him. I didn't want her to turn against me, like so many people had in the past. Why?

 _Because she knew my secret._

The one thing I never told anybody about myself. The one thing that saw me being cast out from my home, humiliated and degraded by my father, while my mother just stood there and agreed with him. I knew she was agreeing with him out of fear, but doing nothing made her just as bad.

Lily Evans was the only person I had opened up to and trusted, and it wasn't a natural occurrence for me to just relax around someone right off the bat. But she made me feel wanted, gave me hope that perhaps I wasn't so alone. She helped me understand - as much as was possible - that how my parents had treated me was wrong, and that I was ' _too polite',_ or ' _too scared'_ to stand up for myself or correct them.

 _That was where the problem started._

I grew far too attached far too quickly. I regret the obsession. I regret the _possession._

I knew she would never fall in love with me; don't give me the tripe about having false hope or unrequited love. I knew what I wanted: I just wanted her to stay the same, and I felt like if she became involved with James Potter, she would change, abandon me, and quite possibly betray me. I was _terrified_.

As I said, and will continue to say, I know what I said was _wrong_. Not that apologising does an awful lot of good _now,_ considering that both she and James are _dead,_ and not that I'm trying to _justify_ it, either, but I need to say what is on my mind. I need to express my emotions in the only way I know how; through writing.

Also, I am in no way attempting to portray myself as perfect, or requiring sympathy.

I know that my own arrogance is sometimes just as bad as - if not _worse_ \- than James Potter's, himself. If I had to describe how I view myself, I shall do it in the paragraph below:

Considering my past, I am aware that I may not have the best moral compass or personality, but I try to improve wherever I can. For example, I don't kill people unless absolutely necessary, and I protect those who deserve it. Those are my morals. Sometimes I can be somewhat narcissistic - I have a hard time admitting when I'm wrong, and it takes months, sometimes years, for me to own up to it and apologise. Saying sorry is hard, and not holding a grudge is even harder. I have my problems, but so does every other human being, and I know that people have had it worse than me. Some people have been raped, physically abused, starved, tortured and imprisoned. I have only experienced mere fragments of what others have, but everyone's hardships are _Everest_ to _them._

What looks like a molehill to you, may be someone else's mountain. Just because you can climb over it, doesn't mean that everyone else can.

I have drawn the death and hangman cards more times than I care to remember, and while they may seem ominous to begin with, I know they have good intentions.

These cards are a fair reflection of myself; others always assume the worst when they take me at face value (it's not lost on me that I appear as a stereotypical 'villain' - the students remind me of this, enough), although taking a look at what is under the surface can reveal so much more, such as wisdom, and the courage to change.

I battle monotony and mediocrity every day of my life, and each passing day, I become all the wiser. Experience is still experience, regardless of whether it's good or bad - it's all useful _somewhere._

But one of the toughest challenges I have attempted to stand up to for many years now, is getting people to listen first time. Stubborn children make stubborn adults, and it is difficult to convince such people not to make the same mistakes that I have. Not to have the same regrets, and the hardest thing to let go of is who to pin the blame on.

Harry Potter simply _had_ to have the attention.

Draco Malfoy simply _had_ to out-do him.

Hermione Granger simply _had_ to establish her superiority.

Ronald Weasley simply _had_ to be the loudest.

I have seen them _all_ turn on one another at some point. I have seen them _all_ blame one another when things don't go according to plan. Just as I have seen them all attempt to label people as strictly 'good' or 'bad', which is one of the biggest problems in society.

Now, I don't agree with _he-who-must-not-be-named_ at all, but the one time I did was when he told me that there was no good, nor evil, only _power,_ and those too weak to seize it. Obviously, he took the phrase literally, however I saw that phrase in a different context; it is very true that there is no good, nor evil. Nobody is one hundred percent 'good', and those who tell you that they are prove themselves not to be by lying about it. In a way, it was hard not to feel sorry for Tom Riddle, because he genuinely thought that what he was doing was the 'right' thing. All 'villains' are 'heroes' in their own stories.

As for power, it acknowledges the political hierarchy. The so-called 'System'.

Making subtle changes - as I do, if anyone has skimmed through my personal copy of ' _Advanced Potion Making'_ \- there is indeed no good, nor evil. However, I think that there is only the 'System', and those smart enough to play it. You have the standard, mediocre civilians who climb to a certain level and are satisfied, the crazed egomaniacs who climb over one another to scramble to the top, and the smarter folk, who either abandon the system, or play it in a way that mocks it. Politically, I'm neutral.

I keep my mouth closed, because the quiet man never says anything stupid. It's better to look the idiot, than to open one's mouth and prove it, and if my childhood has taught me how to do anything particularly well, it's to keep my thoughts and emotions to myself and not damage my dignity.

In short, I'm not good, I'm not bad, I just do what I think is right. I'm human.


	2. Chapter 2

As mentioned in the foreword, Draco Malfoy does indeed suffer with the delusion that the world is black or white, and it has taken many 'serious chats' and late nights in my office to attempt to convince him otherwise. I know that he beats himself up too much, and - typical of Slytherins - is rather defensive and aggressive when acting in his defense.

He and I both know very well that he is only in this predicament because of his parents, and while I encourage him to think for himself, I also have to convince him not to start a rebellion. I know the Malfoys well enough that if something doesn't agree with them, they will bite, and young Draco bites like a fish on a hook whenever Potter provokes him.

I suppose, while attempting to protect Harry, I gave up on trying to 'tame' him - I will honour Lily's wishes until my last breath, but that boy is arrogant and snarky as all hell. He is all the pride and cunning of Slytherin, will all the ballsy extroversion of Gryffindor. He is difficult to work with, and entirely bull-headed. Once Potter gets something into his brain, he is absolutely going to follow through with it. While I admire his determination and value his ambition, it _is_ rather annoying. Even more so when you're attempting to support him, protect him from Albus Dumbledore's reckless ' _let's-make-Potter-fight-the-most-vicious-dragon-on-the-planet_ ' schemes, and prevent him from killing himself in crazed attempts to live up to the 'saviour' expectations placed upon him, while he mocks you behind your back.

Often times, I have thought about throwing the spanner in the works and telling him to fend utterly for himself - might I add that he'd have died in his first year from a broken neck, had I not attempted to counter Quirrell's attempt to throw the boy from his broom - but looking at him and seeing Lily in those eyes stops me from even shouting something obscene at him, let alone abandoning him.

One of the more exciting things I've done for him was throwing myself in front of a childhood bully in werewolf form. Perhaps I'd have been granted the honour of a quick and witless death, but clearly life still fucks me. Life seems to be the only thing interested in that particular interaction with me.

Not that I would subject myself to that situation in the first place; I can't stand the sight of myself with less than my bindings on, let alone having someone else have to endure that mess. If I was approached in a pub by a man or woman who was interested in sex with me, I would laugh at them and bid them good luck with their hangover in the morning.

That was a lie.

I'd probably just ignore them, actually, and quietly suggest to them that they leave me in peace. Sexuality is a touchy subject, for me, and it is still very unexplored, hence why if the situation arose, I would be too anxious to come up with a quick and snappy response.

All in all, I find the prospect of sex to be absolutely horrifying. There would be nothing in this world I would hate more than another person taking off my clothes and seeing... _that._

The situation might have gone a little something like this, in my head, when I was younger and marginally more attractive;

I would be taken back to their home, or them to mine. I would be suitably drunk, and they would remove my shirt, only to see two small lumps bound viciously by bandages. If female, she would demand to know just what I believed I was playing at, and if male... I hadn't even considered what may happen if a male were to undress me. I suppose that if he were gay, he'd say something along the line of ' _oh, I thought you were a man_ ', and if he were straight, _'I love dominant girls'_ or something absurd and humiliating, like that. Alternatively, I might have been attacked.

I might _still_ be attacked, if the opportunity arose.

I know what you're thinking; _have you had it done_? On the top, yes. On the bottom? No.

My appointments at St Mungo's hospital have been extremely low profile and highly confidential, and I have been what a muggle may call 'stealth' for at least ten years, since that awful incident when I was a student at Hogwarts.

You will not be particularly surprised to hear that I was bullied at school. You also may not be surprised to hear that I was bullied by James Potter and Co; Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew (I almost broke my code of not killing anybody unless absolutely necessary when that little worm suddenly appeared in Malfoy Manor one evening). Utterly humiliating and highly undignified, the moment that made me wish that the ground would open up beneath me and swallow me whole was the day they decided to follow me while I was on my way to brush up on my knowledge of herbology, making more of my subtle little changes to _Advanced Potion Making_. They followed me, spouted more horrible shit at me, then hung me upside down on a tree. It was either a choice of holding down my shirt or holding up my trousers, then, when , to my absolute horror, they tried to undress me.

Having not binded myself that day, I chose to hold down my shirt. Consequently, they whipped down my trousers, and started laughing due to the lack of bulge in my underwear, making jokes about small endowments. However I dug my own grave when I let go of my shirt in a panic to pull up my trousers again, and all was revealed.

Needless to say, they put me down rather promptly, and legged it back to the castle.

After that, the rumours spread like _wildfire._ Daily, who I once thought were my Slytherin 'allies' turned a blind eye to me. Hufflepuffs would have their silent whispers. Ravenclaws would try to 'educate' me... and Gryffindors? They were by far the worst.

Comments ranged from calling me a 'tranny' to asking me to show them my 'tits'... and one day, I just snapped. And I snapped at Lily Evans, as my ill-luck would have it.

Still, those comments are the reason I dress so modestly to this day, with collars up to my chin, floor length robes and sleeves that never rise above the wrists, even in summer. They used to hide my chest - which thankfully no longer troubles me - but now they only serve to hide the scars that litter my whole body. I would never dream of getting my arms out. Nor my legs. Students make fun of me enough, I needn't give them another reason to talk. There's not much else I hate more than being the centre of attention.

But of all people that I hoped would come to my aid, Narcissa Black and Bellatrix Lestrange were certainly not who I had in mind. When Narcissa approached me, I was expecting to hear about how much of a disappointment I was to the wizarding world. What I heard, instead, was that she admired my ability to hold my head high through everything that everyone was saying about me, despite my urges to curl in on myself and never come out of the dormitories. She said that he couldn't argue with me, since the stairs to the boys' dormitories would have rejected me in my attempt to ascend them, if my body was representative of my mind. Admittedly, I judged her according to her relativity to Andromeda Black, and her very conservative attitude.

Ever since then, Narcissa was surprisingly protective of me, and Bellatrix stepped up for me, too, with her infamous 'fuck the rules' attitude.

Eventually, the other boys were starting to have their growth spurts and deepening voices, and I was no longer able to pass as well as I did before. The worst night, for all of us, was the night one of the older girls, Myrtle, made fun of me in the great hall. Admittedly, this was my lowest point, and I felt that I couldn't take any more. So I did what I thought was the right thing to do, and I invaded the potions cabinet, ingesting at least four different types of poison, including mandrake, deadly nightshade, hemlock and wormwood.

It was the late Professor Slughorn, who revived me with a bezoar after Bellatrix and Narcissa found me unconscious, before sending me to the hospital wing. I haven't a single bad thing to say about either of them. Not after that.

I never thought I would be talking about this experience. I never thought I'd get over it enough to relive it - the memory still haunts me whenever I have to dip into the potions cabinet for ingredients, and the old bottles still taunt me from their shelves. I often burden my students with the task of looking into the cabinet for me, to save me becoming even more irritable and jittery for the remainder of my lessons. It earns me the title of a tyrant, but at least not a 'nervous wreck'.


	3. Chapter 3

It is evident that some things don't just go away, if my appearance is anything to go by.

I am known for being unsightly, with my long, greasy hair and yellow teeth. It counteracts what pride I have in myself and proves paradoxical to my dignity. But it's not exactly something I can help.

During those years where I wasn't passing as a male in Hogwarts, including the year that I attempted to take my own life, I severely neglected myself. This is another regret of mine, and even though I am relatively happy with my body, now, I still procrastinate actually doing something about my appearance because I am either pre-occupied with work, or my own past trauma. I wouldn't brush my teeth or my hair - at one point, it matted, and I actually had to cut it all off - and I lost a lot of weight.

Half of this was due to being fearful of eating more and gaining a more feminine figure (I was blessed with slim hips and a flat chest, but I was under the impression that eating too much would change that), and half of it was due to me just not being hungry. Eventually, I started to put on weight again, after my appointment at St Mungo's assured me that I would have to put on weight in order to continue my transition healthily. The only thing I resent St Mungo's for, is for not medicating me for my depression. I know they said that the anti-depressant potions they were working on would give me hormonal imbalances and side effects, but a little support with wanting to end myself would have been nice.

I would go to bed completely exhausted, and when I _did_ actually find the time and motivation to bathe, it would be in a private stall in the girls' bathrooms instead of the communal pool - I often didn't bathe myself because I was frightened of the male bathrooms and equally as petrified of the female ones, but when I did pluck up the courage to bathe, I would always slink into the female bathrooms because I was ashamed of myself - and my time would be spent sat down with my head in my hands because I didn't want to look at what was between my legs.

The bath was both the worst and best place for me to be - best, because of the brief emotional warmth the hot water would bring me, and worst because seeing myself naked would result in earth-shattering anxiety.

Sometimes I still re-live the old days, sat in the bathtub in my office, refusing to look between my legs even though I know there is a very realistic prosthetic attached to my body, courtesy of St Mungo's hospital. Sometimes it takes more than one glass of absinthe to get me to actually take a bath, and when I wash my hair, it's usually the chatter of the classroom the following day. Speaking of chatter in the classroom, someone got a hold of my book and has been talking about the cutting-curse, 'Sectumsempra'.

Awaiting the owner of my book to ask me why I would create such a violent curse, they should take a peek at my arms and then at those who bullied me and see the same marks. Yes, it was an act of revenge, to make them feel what I felt when I felt worthless. No, I am not sorry.

I have a feeling that it's Potter.

We'll soon find out when someone ends up laying on the floor, bleeding. I wouldn't put it past his naive and overly curious mind to use it.

Regardless, resuming the previous topic, you may be wondering how I feel about changing the lower half of my body. While I am in favour of the proceedure, and the magic is much quicker than the muggle surgeries (I have looked into those, too), the pain afterwards is much, much more difficult to deal with. It's worse than the burning effect of 'skelegrow', to say the least. It was bad enough having the tissue removed from my chest and dealing with the pain and side effects afterwards, having to wear my full length robes, stand in front of a class and teach, let alone having to walk around and risk wetting myself after bottom-surgery. Besides, being in hospital for such a long time would cause unwanted suspicion in my class, and harmful rumours are the last thing I need. I would much prefer to be called a 'vampire' than a 'tranny' again. You know how teenagers are.

And some teenagers, evidently, never learn to grow up.

I concluded this after I heard some students snickering about how in Remus Lupin's DATDA lessons, he had advised a boy - namely, Neville Longbottom - to picture me in a dress. It's simply delightful to know that someone who transforms into a murderous beast every month still doesn't possess the capacity to be sensitive towards someone who has transitioned from female to male and perhaps may not want to be outed to his students or hinted at in a feminine manner.

Two can play at that game, however, and he soon stopped after I started slipping some _lupine_ hints to my own students. He shouldn't dish it out if he can't take it. If he was going to 'out' me, then I bloody well wasn't going to sit back and just let it happen. I would 'out' him, too.

He was always quick to remind me that other student's parents wouldn't want their children being friends with me. It was only suitable that the ancient earth magick should come back around to tell him that the parents of the students wouldn't want someone _like him_ teaching their children, either. It works both ways, and sometimes, harmless little curses are the best way to bring what goes around back around, because nobody should let someone else walk all over them.

But, as with all things, both sides of this story were failed to be seen, and I was cast as a villain, once more, in favour of the more popular and better looking candidate.

Although, I can guarantee that if Remus had been as unattractive as I am, I would have come out on top.


	4. Chapter 4

Luna Lovegood had always piqued my own curiosity.

I suppose, secretly, I had always liked her as a student, because she asked questions that nobody else could think of, and was unafraid to be herself, no matter what other people said. Inwardly, it must get to her, but outwardly, she's just one of those people who simply do not give two flying fwoopers what people think of her.

Yes. I rather like Luna Lovegood.

Still, she has taken me by surprise, once or twice. With all her eccentric and artsy ways, she can still give a stare that warns others not to mess with her, and I can't help but think that with her being incredibly perceptive, a few times she's looked at me, that she _knows._ And she doesn't speak up. She doesn't frown, or laugh.

Luna Lovegood simply smiles.

I think we have a mutual understanding of the people that surround us, and the attitudes of those who react negatively to those who are a little different. So, when nobody else is looking, and they are all stood with their heads in their cauldrons, I give her a curt nod and a smile in return. No snarky comments. I can drop the stern, strict guise and smile back, because Miss Lovegood is a very genuine person, and so is her father... and her silence tells me that she is somewhat smarter than her more outspoken, judgemental half-ally, Hermione Granger.

Perhaps I'm a little biased, because of my experience with Gryffindors and my more introverted personality, but I honestly think that there is more to Luna than meets the eye. She knows more than she lets on, and I believe that her dreamy, off with the fairies state is all part of her charm.

I was told not so long ago, by Luna, herself, that there was 'no shame in diversity'. She told me this, directly, and proceeded to disguise her point with flowery language about the diversity in wrackspurts - utter nonsense, and the amused look in her eyes told me that she knew it. Clever, because everybody else rolled their eyes and completely bought her cover up.

Luna Lovegood is a delight to teach. She is shockingly in tune, and listens first time. Her potions are almost flawless, and she shows a rebellious, experimental flair that the others - even Draco Malfoy - are too afraid to try. I keep up my act of bitterness and resentment, so as not to damage my reputation for being a strict teacher (if that were to happen, I could face disruptive classes and a sensory overload), but I do let her know that I think highly of her work in her personal textbook.

She understands, and I find it hard to believe that she doesn't have a romantic interest. If someone like her had existed when I was in Hogwarts, I mightn't have given Lily Evans so much as a second glance after she went off with James Potter. I see likeness to Lily in Hermione, and admittedly, I would have still preferred someone like Luna. Someone who was just as eccentric and quirky as myself. Someone to show me that things aren't as bad as they seem. Someone to put a pair of rose-tinted glasses on me, from time to time.

Not that I have a romantic interest in Luna Lovegood, herself. Just, I wish I'd had a friend like her when I was young. Perhaps I wouldn't be as miserable, now.

Nonetheless, the past is in the past. I can't change what has happened, and there is not much use holding onto broken, twisted memories, or creating sad fantasies of what might have been.

Nothing is permanent. Everything changes. Nothing stays the same, which is why I think valuing traditions is pointless. Valuing the pure-blood hierarchy is pointless. Almost everything is pointless, unless it makes you happy.

And that is why I created my own antidepressant, during those trying years before my hormonal treatment.

Mixing valerian root with dragons milk, vanilla, lavender and a dash of earl grey soothed my anxiety significantly; as anybody who works with potions can tell you - there are not many problems that cannot be solved with a hot cup of tea.

Granted, Professor Slughorn didn't much appreciate the lack of supplies, after a while and taught me how to forage. It was perhaps one of the most useful skills I acquired, to this day. Even on the run, I can survive. Even without the aid of a wand, I can live.


End file.
